the boy in the window
by sarsaparillia
Summary: TP. She had butterfly wings and freedom. — boy/Agitha


**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: eleni, for never judging me on these things.  
><strong>notes<strong>: i should really just stop. Eli does, in fact, exist; i just gave him a name and a darkness.

**title**: the boy at the window  
><strong>summary<strong>: She had butterfly wings and freedom. — boy/Agitha

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He stood outside the window and watched her, sometimes.

Well, no, not sometimes. All the time. Whenever he could. At every moment where he wasn't needed elsewhere, he watched her. It might have been a little odd, but, well, he couldn't help it.

Eliom—commonly referred to as Eli—stood outside the window to Agitha's little realm and watched the golden glow of the bugs inside from far away. Through the sheen of steel and glass, he caught a glimpse of her face.

Even years later, she was still Agitha—still blonde and sweet and looking far younger than she actually was. Even years later, she was still oblivious to the outside world, still unable to connect.

Even years later, she was still interesting.

Of course she was.

There was just something about her, something Eli could never put his finger on. It drew him to her like a month to flame (and wasn't that ironic, in light of… _everything_), and he was not one to resist. Had _never_ been one to resist.

If there was one thing Eli would never understand, it would be the fact that he had never been able to resist the golden glow that she surrounded herself with.

Or maybe the fact that he'd never been able to dredge up the courage to actually _talk_ to her.

She didn't even know he existed; Eli was completely out of her realm of possibly, completely off her radar. He knew that.

But he knew of no way to change it.

Agitha didn't like human company.

Even when they'd been children, she'd watched the others interact, aloof and uncaring. Old eyes, old soul, Eli had always thought—she'd never needed anyone else. She talked to the sky, danced along the length of Hyrule's southern field, flirted with the edges and the endless gorges.

And Eli could only watch, heart thudding painfully.

One day she was going to get herself killed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

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The first words she'd said to him hadn't even really been words.

She'd screamed at him for nearly quashing the beetle she'd been following, but all Eli had registered had been a very small blonde girl with violet eyes staring up at him, looking like an angry fairy—she had _wings_.

Eli had fallen back, apples and bread for his mother flying everywhere, and watched her pick up the glowing little thing with a coo.

There was a very brief moment where she looked up at him and smiled widely.

"Good, he's alright!"

She had a tiny voice and a tinier spark, but it might have turned into a flare for all Eli understood, because she was magnificent in her happiness; like the bug's glow had deserted it and infused her with its light.

Eli stared at her as she flitted away, dumbstruck.

What kind of girl _was_ she?

It might have started a fascination or two, but then again, Eli had never met anyone like her. He didn't think _anyone_ had ever met anyone else like her.

She was just so… _strange_.

And so he watched her.

She very rarely left her home. He'd noticed that first. No one went in or out of the spindly building except Agitha herself, and that was rarer than a blue moon. She didn't have parents. She didn't have friends.

Just butterfly wings and freedom.

Eli craved it.

(Maybe not the wings, but the freedom.)

Eli _craved_ it.

He wanted her lack of responsibility and her lack of schedule. He yearned for her innocence and her smiles and her light. He hungered for her freedom.

And oh, how he hungered.

Oh, how he hungered.

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Eli wasn't sure when it became a sick obsession. Wasn't sure when he began warning others off her—when it became a twisted thing of possession.

He couldn't explain it.

The need to protect (possess) her was a wild urge in his stomach, burning and writhing and hissing, spitting fire and glowing like one of her precious insects.

(Eli didn't like insects.

But he liked Agitha, so he guessed that that made it okay.)

And so when that _man_ showed up and slipped in and out, Eli had never hated anything so much. He'd never been a violent person; Eli didn't believe in the need to for violence, didn't believe in the philosophy that smacking something with a sword worked any better than verbally tearing one to shreds.

The dark need for the destruction of this man was an ugly smear on his consciousness.

But Eli couldn't _help_ it.

The man in green made him sick.

He made himself sick.

The whole thing made him sick.

The whole thing.

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_He thought about plucking the wings off a butterfly and shredding them, shredding them, shredding them; if only to keep the butterfly safe in his hand._

_She wouldn't get hurt, there._

_No, she wouldn't get hurt, because he was protecting her._

_Of course, she screamed and screamed as he tore her wings to pieces._

_There was a disturbing kind of beauty in it. He didn't want her to hurt, but if he didn't take her wings, she would leave. She would fly away._

_So it was all for her own good. She would be safe, forever safe, kept flightless and protected. No one would take her away. No one could take her away. He would sit with the keening butterfly in his palm, the tatters of her glorious fuchsia wings around him, and he would—_

Eli woke with a start, eyes wide and fearful.

It was dreams like that, that scared him.

It was dreams like that, that made him think that he wasn't so clean, after all.

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He tried to stop, after that.

Eli didn't want to ruin someone as perfect as little Princess Agitha.

Eli didn't want to hurt her.

But sometimes, she was just so innocent that he didn't know how he could do anything but.

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Shivers wracked Eli's body. She'd infected his mind with her glow and her wings and her freedom, and there was nothing he could do to change it. There was nothing he could do to stop the darkness that crawled across his skin. There was nothing that he could do to prevent himself from closing his fingers around her throat, if she got close enough.

Little Agitha, with her purple eyes and her blonde hair and her innocence, dancing along the edges of a gorge that could kill her—take her away—ruin her—

Eli stood at Agitha's window.

He watched.

And he waited.

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_fin_.  
><strong>notes2<strong>: okay, that got really scary, really fast.  
><strong>notes3<strong>: please leave a review! :)


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